


November 1st

by enigmaticagentscully



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-14 02:57:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16484717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticagentscully/pseuds/enigmaticagentscully
Summary: In my hour of need, God has sent me a handsome man with cleaning supplies.When one of Clarke’s friends goes a little too far with a Halloween prank, Abby finds that maybe the mess made of her house will turn out to be a blessing in disguise...Modern AU. Shameless Kabby fluff. Happy day-after-Halloween everyone!





	November 1st

* * *

 

 

“Oh my _god_.”

“Clarke?” Still half asleep and blearily flicking through a magazine at the kitchen table, Abby could recognise the half-amused, half-horrified tone in her daughter’s voice enough to be slightly worried. “What is it?”

Clarke, who had left the house just moments before, didn’t come back in, but called back through the still-open front door.

“Uh, Mom? I think you’d better come see this.”

In spite of knowing her neighbours pretty well after having lived on this street for nearly twenty years, Abby wasn’t usually one to leave the house in just a dressing gown and slippers. But curiosity got the better of her and she put down her mug of coffee and went to see what had stopped Clarke in her tracks instead of heading out to the community art class she was already late for.

When she made it outside, tugging her dressing gown tightly around herself against the chill in the early morning autumn air, she could only gape at the sight that greeted her.

“Oh my god,” she said weakly.

The house had been egged. Very thoroughly, in fact. And that wasn’t all; as well as the sticky goo splattered on every window and up the walls, long streamers of toilet paper had been strewn over every available surface, even – and a small part of Abby had to be impressed – across the roof itself. Someone must have had to actually climb the tree in the front yard to achieve that, she imagined. Slightly in shock, she admired for a moment the attention to detail.

“I’m going to kill her,” muttered Clarke from beside her, although it sounded suspiciously like she was trying not to laugh.

“Kill who?” said Abby.

Clarke turned to her, eyes a little too wide. “Uh...no-one.”

“Clarke, do you know who did this?”

Clarke, to her credit, didn’t actually deny it. She just looked back at the house, obviously hoping her mom wouldn’t push the subject.

Abby sighed inwardly. In fact, she had a pretty damn good idea of who had done it. Clarke wasn’t short on friends who might take a Halloween prank a little too far, but the process of elimination narrowed it down quite a bit. She checked off a mental list...

Something like this wasn’t Raven’s style at all, and Clarke’s girlfriend Lexa was far too sensible to spend the night climbing trees and throwing toilet paper around. Jasper and Monty were inveterate pranksters, but they tended to be a bit more creative about it (the teachers at Clarke’s school still talked about the infamous Fire Extinguisher Incident) and anyway, Abby didn’t think they’d risk her wrath.

Which left a clear picture in Abby’s mind of a teenage girl with dark hair and bright, wicked eyes, who had never once in her life backed down from a dare.

Octavia Blake had been Clarke’s friend for nearly a year now, though she was a year below her in school, and Abby recalled an argument the two had been having just the week before. Octavia had wanted Clarke to go to some kind of Halloween party last night, but Clarke had demurred. It was a kind of tradition that Abby and Clarke would curl up on the couch together at Halloween and watch totally inappropriate cheesy romantic movies, only getting up to open the door and hand out candy to kids. Halloween had been Jake’s favourite holiday when he was alive, and when he passed away it had been just a couple of weeks before the big day; his and Clarke’s costumes for trick-or-treating with the little kids next door had  hung unused in the closet for months before Abby could bring herself to quietly throw them out. Since Halloween was always so much Jake’s thing in their family, neither Abby nor Clarke were keen to participate much in the festivities these days.

Or maybe Clarke _had_ wanted to go to the party, and had just refused because she didn’t want to leave Abby alone last night. The thought sent a little quiver of guilt in the pit of Abby’s stomach.

“I’ll stay home today,” said Clarke from beside her, glancing at her phone for the time. “I’ll help you clean the house...”

And now she was doing the same thing again.

_Okay, I can do this,_ thought Abby. _I can be the calm, easygoing parent who doesn’t freak out at a bit of harmless fun from her daughter’s friends. What would Jake have done? Laugh it off. It’s just a little mess, nothing I can’t handle._

“Go,” she said wearily. “There’s no point you being late and I didn’t have plans today anyway.”

Actually she had planned to have a nice restful day off, but it seemed a little petty to say as much.

Clarke looked genuinely contrite. “I _am_ sorry, Mom,” she said.

“Did you _know_ this was going to happen?”

Her daughter held up her hands pleadingly. “I swear.”

“Then I’ll let you off the hook.” Abby flashed Clarke a smile. “Tell your friend she has impressive skills. And I’ll see you when you get home.”

“I’ll help you clean up when I get back...I mean if there’s still...”

“Go! You’re late as it is!”

Clarke darted forwards and kissed Abby briefly on the cheek before dashing off, bag swinging beside her. Abby had a sudden flashback to all the times she had watched her daughter dashing off to school over the years, her long blonde hair bobbing behind her as she ran along.

Abby swallowed a lump in her throat. This time of year wasn’t as painful as it once had been, but it still always made her a little more sentimental than usual.

Then she turned back to the house, surveying the damage.

Okay, so the mess wasn’t so little.

Abby went inside and grabbed her mug of coffee, finishing it off in one large gulp before heading upstairs to get dressed. She threw on an old pair of jeans that she had gotten paint on when doing up the spare room, and a plaid shirt that had always been a couple of sizes too big over her black tank top. She was just pulling her hair into a messy ponytail and heading back into the kitchen to see what she had in the way of cleaning supplies when the doorbell rang. She finished buttoning up her shirt as she went to answer it, wearily expecting one of her well-meaning elderly neighbours to be standing there waiting to politely inform her that her home looked like the scene of a frat party gone wrong.

Instead, she opened the door to a complete stranger. A tall man of about her own age, with dark hair and a neat salt and pepper beard, who was wearing a black jacket and an expression of polite apprehension. In one hand he held a plastic bag full of what looked like cloths and bottles of cleaning fluid, and in the other he held a bucket. He was backlit slightly by the low autumn sun, like an oddly specific miracle.

_In my hour of need,_ Abby thought, slightly dazed, _God has sent me a handsome man with cleaning supplies._

“I’m sorry,” the man in question said, by way of greeting.

There was only really one explanation to such an opening line, especially when paired with what he was holding, but it seemed so unlikely that Abby gaped at him for a moment before saying suspiciously:

“ _You_ egged my house?”

The man blinked. “What? No, of course not! My daughter...” he trailed off. “Clarke didn’t tell you?”

“Clarke wouldn’t name names,” said Abby dryly. “But I’m guessing you’re Octavia Blake’s father?”

The man in her doorway looked like he wasn’t sure whether to be embarrassed or slightly proud that Abby so obviously immediately knew who the culprit was. He also looked as if he were bracing himself to be yelled at, which oddly made Abby feel much more sympathetic to him.

“Marcus Kane,” he said, making even his own name sound apologetic. “I wish we could have met under better circumstances.”

“Oh I don’t know,” said Abby, who was, inexplicably, starting to enjoy herself. “What’s a Sunday morning without a little light vandalism?”

He winced. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “If I’d had any idea what she was planning...” he trailed off, and Abby couldn’t help but imagine the rest of that sentence would have had to be ‘I wouldn’t have been able to stop her anyway.’ She may not have met Octavia Blake’s father before, but she knew Octavia. There wasn’t much that could dissuade that girl from a plan of action once she had set her mind on it.

This poor man must spend a lot of his time doing clean up duty after his daughter, she considered. If not always quite so literally.

“You’d better come in,” she said, as kindly as she could manage.

He followed her into the hallway, and out of the glare of the sun Abby had a chance to examine him properly out the corner of her eye. His hair was longer than you saw on most men of his age, and given to curl slightly. He had strong, striking features and his eyes were a deep, warm brown. In fact, he was distractingly good looking, and Abby wished briefly she didn’t look so scruffy herself right now, if only for the sake of her pride.

“I can’t apologise enough for this,” he said, as Abby led him into the kitchen and gestured for him to set down his burdens. “Octavia can be impulsive, but it’s not like her to be so inconsiderate. Believe me, I’ve had a serious word with her about this. She said...I think her intention was to cheer your daughter up.”

Abby considered this, and had to admit it had worked. Clarke had been more animated this morning than she had been in the last couple of weeks since the anniversary of Jake’s death. That always hit Clarke hard every year – harder even than it did Abby now, who had a lifetime of memories with Jake to look back on in her past, whereas Clarke increasingly only felt aware of all the moments in her future that her father would be absent from. Abby had been able to get some distance from her grief; although she missed Jake terribly, she was able to be grateful for the time they had together before she had lost him. But Clarke had been allowed far too few years with both parents by her side, and nothing Abby could say or do would diminish the painful unfairness of that fact.

For all her muttered threats against Octavia, Clarke had been smiling this morning. That was something.

“Don’t be too hard on her,” said Abby, surprising herself slightly. “She’s a teenager. She could have been out getting high and crashing your car into the local Wallmart or something.”

Marcus blinked at her.

“I work at the hospital,” said Abby. “I see a lot of things on a Saturday night. And I have a colleague who works in A and E who could tell you some stories about Halloween, believe me.”

“I can imagine,” said Marcus, and smiled, apparently starting to relax now he was sure she wasn’t going to chew him out for his awful parenting.

He had a very attractive smile, and Abby made a decision.

“Shall we get started then?” she said, picking up a sponge.

It was hard work, and warm work too, on a clear day like this. In fact it had been unseasonably warm for the whole of October – causing Clarke to mutter ominously about global warming more than once over breakfast – and although there was a more of a chill in the morning air now that the days were shorter, today the sun still shone down brightly in the sky and made sweat bead on Abby’s brow as she scrubbed at the big bay windows at the front of her house.

Marcus took off his jacket after a few minutes of work and, after some hesitation, Abby removed her painting shirt and tied it around her waist so that she was wearing only the old black tank top she had on underneath. She felt a little underdressed for being outside in what was now technically November, but considering she had started the day by going into the street in her dressing gown and fluffy slippers, it probably didn’t matter.

Besides, she looked a lot better in the tank top than in the oversized shirt, and she was starting to be very conscious of how she looked right now. Mostly because she was increasingly conscious of how the man _beside_ her looked.

Marcus Kane was wearing a faded grey t shirt under his jacket. It turned out he had nice arms. _Really_ nice arms; firm and muscular and lightly tanned by the sun. He must have spent a lot of time out of doors this summer. Abby tried her best not to stare.

“So...” she said, to try and distract herself, “sorry for asking, but...Marcus Kane, Octavia Blake...?”

“Oh, Octavia isn’t my biological daughter,” said Marcus easily. “She and her brother Bellamy are my cousin Aurora’s kids. Aurora passed away a few years ago and Bellamy wasn’t old enough to act as guardian yet, so I took them in.”

Abby tried to imagine taking on a couple of teenagers who had just lost their mom, when you had no experience at all of raising kids. It had been difficult enough for her helping Clarke through her grief.

“That must have been hard,” she said, wincing a little at the obvious understatement.

“Harder on them than on me,” said Marcus firmly. “They’re good kids.” He smiled ruefully. “Light vandalism aside.” He tugged at the end of a long roll of toilet paper and grinned in triumph as the whole thing came fluttering obligingly to the ground.

They chatted a little more, exchanging local news and discussing the school that Clarke and Octavia went to as they worked, discovering as they talked a shared deep dislike of the headteacher that kept the conversation going nicely as they both roundly abused the man’s ridiculous policies. In fact, with such enjoyable company the job wasn’t half as onerous as Abby had thought it would be, and it was barely 40 minutes later that they found themselves staring upwards at the upper storey windows, smeared with drying egg and a few bits of shell. It wasn’t nearly as bad as the bottom half of the house; presumably it had been more difficult to get to.

“We’re going to need a ladder for the rest,” Marcus said. “Do you have one? I do at home if not.”

Abby turned to him, feeling inexplicably embarrassed. This man was so cheerfully obliging that she was starting to feel like the one inconveniencing _him_. “I can do the rest,” she said, “you don’t have to—”

Marcus held up a hand to cut her off. “I won’t hear of it,” he said. “I’ll do the top of the house. Let me do my penance, Abby, please.”

_That_ was a sentence which, when spoken in Marcus Kane’s extremely pleasant voice, put far too many ideas into Abby’s head for her to be able to coherently argue, so she just shrugged and went to fetch the ladder from the garage. As Marcus set it up against the wall of the house and started to climb it carefully, she realised she was watching him and looked away abruptly, a little flustered.

“I’ll just...I’ll grab us some water,” she called up. “To drink, I mean.”

“That’d be great, thanks.” Marcus was already scrubbing at an upstairs window, the bucket of soapy water balanced at the top of the ladder beside him.

Abby headed inside to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. She drank it slowly, trying to give herself a reason not to go back outside right away. She wasn’t sure what she was so nervous about, all of a sudden. Only that it had suddenly hit her that this was the first time in a very long time that she had been alone with a man who she didn’t know, someone who wasn’t family or an old friend. An attractive, _single_ man, of around her own age. Or at least, she assumed he was single – he certainly hadn’t mentioned a partner even in passing during their conversation, and wasn’t that the sort of thing that usually came up?

And what did it matter if he was single, anyway? It wasn’t as if she could...well, of course, she _could_ , there was no reason she _couldn’t_...it just wasn’t the sort of thing she usually thought about.

That was the disconcerting thing, really. Suddenly Abby was very _aware_ of a possibility that she hadn’t been prepared for, a situation wholly unexpected on what was supposed to be a typical lazy Sunday morning. She felt like she had been thrust into a scene of a play for which she hadn’t learned the lines. How were you supposed to act around someone to make it clear you weren’t interested?

How were you supposed to act if you _were?_

She had been hanging around the kitchen for too long – soon he’d start to wonder where she’d gone. She set down her own empty glass and poured one for Marcus, heading back outside. On her way past the mirror in the hall, she couldn’t help but pause briefly and check her hair, try to tuck in the loose strands and tidy up her ponytail a little. She tugged the neckline of her tank top down a little into something more revealing, and then immediately yanked it back up again, her cheeks burning. God, what had gotten into her today?

She hurried back outside before she lost the courage to do so, and found Marcus still at the top of the ladder.

“Come down and take a break!” she called.

“Just a minute!” he called back. “I’m nearly done.”

Further conversation at anything but a shout was impossible, so Abby stood there feeling a bit like an idiot for a few minutes before Marcus descended, carrying his cleaning supplies with him and setting them on the ground next to the ladder.

“There wasn’t much up there,” he said. “I checked the roof but it was really just the windows, which I’ve cleaned. That seems to be it.”

Abby had the sudden horrible realisation that her bedroom was at the front and she had left the curtains open, so Marcus could see right into the room as he worked. She fervently hoped she hadn’t left any underwear on the bed or something equally awful.

She was distracted from this spasm of paranoia by Marcus’ hand brushing against hers as she handed him the glass of water.

“Thank you,” he said.

Abby found it impossible to drag her gaze away from him as he tilted his head back and took a grateful gulp, watching the taut lines of his throat as he swallowed. God, he was _ridiculously_ good looking. How could anyone go through life looking like that? People must swoon just standing in line with him at the grocery store.

“I really must apologise again,” Marcus said, when he had finished drinking. “I’m sure this isn’t how you expected your Sunday morning to go. But I am glad I got to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about Clarke from Octavia, and it’s good to uh...to meet other parents, I suppose. In general. Especially ones who aren’t—”

He broke off, looking a little embarrassed all of a sudden, and Abby found to her surprise that seeing his awkwardness made her feel more relaxed.

“Smug, happily married couples with very well behaved kids who never fuck up and are all part of perfect nuclear families?” she suggested.

“Well...yes.” Marcus ran a hand through his hair in what must have been a nervous gesture. “I don’t mean any offence. I think Octavia gets on so well with Clarke because she feels like they have something in common.”

“Well, those of us who don’t quite fit the ideal mould in this town have to stick together,” said Abby.

Marcus smiled at her. “Glad to hear it,” he said.

The eye contact held for just a moment too long, and his eyes flickered down for an instant to the neckline of her top, and then back up again just as quickly. Abby felt a hot flush of pleasure sweep through her, and hoped like hell she wasn’t actually blushing.

Marcus cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Well, I should...uh...”

“Come in and have some coffee,” said Abby quickly. “Take the weight off your feet for a bit.”

“I...thank you.”

He followed her inside obediently to the lounge – for some reason the sound of the front door shutting behind them felt very significant – and Abby made some vague noises about making himself at home before she was able to escape back to the kitchen, slightly stunned at her own daring and feeling more than a little ridiculous.

She wasn’t good at this. She was seriously out of practice; it having been some twenty years since she’d even had to consider the rules of this particular game. How to turn a brief acquaintance and a few sparks into something.... _something._

She bit her lip nervously, hesitating in the kitchen as long as she could, something that was fast becoming a habit. It had been a long time – not since before Jake’s death – that she had felt anything like this, and it was a pleasant surprise to realise that she still _could,_ that this part of her hadn’t died along with her husband. To be attracted to a man, to have the kind of harmless crush that she had experienced every now and then even while she had been married...it was embarrassing and disturbing and a little bit thrilling all at once.

She _liked_ Marcus. She liked his smile and she liked his eyes and she liked his easygoing good humour and his obvious affection for his wayward daughter, something Abby could relate to all too well. She wanted to get to know him better. She wanted to find out how he’d become the kind of guy who would take in two kids who had lost their parents, and yet had never had a family himself before them. She wanted to know what his life had _been_ before that, what his life was like now; what he would _usually_ have been doing on a Sunday morning before being obliged to clean some stranger’s house had upended his plans.

She also wanted him naked and sweaty in her bed, those firm, muscular arms wrapped around her and his lips on every inch of her skin, but the sudden startling re-emergence of her libido was a whole other issue.

Even in the privacy of her kitchen, Abby felt herself blush.

Asking Marcus in for coffee was – she dimly remembered from her dating days – at least a generally socially acceptable way of showing an interest. Unfortunately, looking through her cupboards, she discovered that there was a slight snag to this particular plan.

She strolled back into the lounge, trying to look like someone who hadn’t just been fantasising about her neighbour in her kitchen in the middle of the day. Marcus was standing and examining one of Clarke’s paintings on the wall, but turned and gave her an inquisitive look when she entered.

“I’m actually out of coffee,” said Abby ruefully. “I guess I didn’t notice. Sorry.”

Marcus shrugged. “That’s ok. Want me to pick you some up from the store? I just live round the corner so it’s not out of my way, and I need to go grocery shopping this morning anyway. I, uh...” He grinned suddenly. “I find my house completely and mysteriously out of eggs.”

Abby laughed. “And I’m out of cleaning supplies. What a coincidence. Why don’t we just go to the store together, and get some coffee and lunch at Starbucks or something? I think we’ve earned it.”

Marcus smiled. “I’d like that.”

“Just let me throw on some jeans that don’t have paint on and I’ll be right with you,” said Abby, and headed upstairs.

She felt a little flutter in the pit of her stomach as she pulled on some nicer pants and went to grab her car keys. So far this day wasn’t exactly going as she had planned, but for the first time ever she said a little prayer of thanks to her daughter for having such crazy friends. She hadn’t always approved of the company Clarke had started to keep after her dad passed away, but now...

It had been another long year, and Abby was tired of being on her own. Maybe it was time she took a leaf out of her daughter’s book and took a chance on someone new as well.

 

* * *

 

 

**One Year Later**

 

“Oh my god.”

Abby opened her eyes blearily. It was not by any means the _first_ time she had heard that phrase come out of Marcus’ mouth – not even the first time she had heard him say it in their bedroom, she thought smugly – but this time his tone was perhaps cause for concern.

“What is it?” she mumbled, hoping that it was something that at least didn’t require getting out of bed.

“Uh...I think Octavia may have gone a bit overboard.” Now he sounded like he was trying not to laugh.

Abby rolled over and opened her eyes fully, to see Marcus standing peering out of the bedroom window around the curtain.

“You’re going to have to be more specific,” she said. “You daughter is not known for her restraint.”

Marcus pulled the curtain half open, just enough so that a shaft of sunlight fell over the bed, and Abby could see a sliver of icy blue sky outside. She could also see a long white trail fluttering past the window that looked suspiciously like...

“Oh no,” she muttered. “Don’t tell me. How bad is it?”

“I’d say she’s topped last year,” said Marcus, sounding almost impressed. “If you think about it...I suppose it was a rather sweet thought. It is the one year anniversary of the day we first met, after all.”

“And we’re going to spend it cleaning toilet paper off the house,” muttered Abby. “How romantic.”

“No, _Octavia_ is going to spend it cleaning the house,” said Marcus firmly. He turned away from the window and padded his way back to the bed, sitting on the edge and looking down at her fondly. “ _We_ are going to spend it enjoying the fall colours at Arkadia Park, and going to that exhibition you wanted to see, to which I have with some difficulty gotten tickets.” He leaned down and kissed her softly on the lips. “...and then later we are going to have dinner at the _extremely_ fancy restaurant I have booked reservations at, where I will gallantly abstain from their very nice wine because when we get back here I intend to show you a very-“ He kissed her again, more emphatically. “- _very_ good time.”

“Sounds like you’ve got the whole day pretty sewn up,” said Abby, smiling.

“Damn straight. And I’m pleased to say that there’s absolutely no cleaning scheduled.” Marcus paused, and then looked sideways at her with a little smirk. “Although...I wouldn’t mind it if you wore that little black tank top again.”

“You liked that, huh?”

“Oh yeah.” Marcus looked slightly dreamy at the memory. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to clean a house when you have to make a serious effort not to stare at your gorgeous neighbour’s breasts the whole time?”

Abby rolled her eyes. “So much for chivalry,” she said, wriggling out from under the covers a little so she could prop herself more upright against her pillow.

“My motives were very chivalrous,” protested Marcus, and then grinned. “...at first. After a while I admit I was mainly trying to figure out how to ask you out when my daughter had just vandalised your home.”

“If I remember right, I had to do that myself,” said Abby.

“And I’m forever grateful,” said Marcus agreeably. “That tank top would have haunted me forever.” He reached out and idly traced the loose neckline of her pyjama top, his fingers drifting lightly across the swell of her breasts, more affectionate than salacious. Then he caught her eyes again and gave a sudden, wicked grin. “You know, it’s the one year anniversary of something else, too...”

Abby groaned. “It is definitely _not_ chivalrous to bring that up,” she said. “I swear I don’t usually put out on the first date.”

“Well, if it helps, I don’t usually end up in bed with people I’ve just met that day either,” said Marcus.

“Glad to hear it.” Abby couldn’t help a smirk of her own. “It was a hell of a good apology though, I’ll give you that.”

“Mmm, well you seemed _very_ receptive to it, if I recall.”

“I think I forgave you the moment you took your shirt off.”

“I think I fell in love with you the moment you took off yours.”

Abby picked up a pillow and threw it at him. “You’re an idiot,” she giggled.

Marcus caught the pillow deftly and flung it aside, moving over her to pin her between his arms before leaning down and kissing her soundly on the lips. “I’m _your_ idiot,” he grinned proudly.

Gilded as he was by the low autumn sun streaming through the window, Abby was reminded of the moment she had first seen him, a year ago today, and was struck suddenly by the difference between then and now; not in him, but in herself. She remembered the quiet, familiar loneliness of her life before Marcus had walked into it and felt a rush of pity for her past self, who thought that all she had to look forward to for the rest of her life was waking alone every morning and going to bed alone every night, her days filled with quiet routine. A life utterly devoid of passion. Watching her daughter slip away into a bright future while her own life drifted slowly past, already over.

And now Marcus was here, utterly unexpected and yet so completely a part of her life now, his hair tousled from sleep, his warm eyes bright with good natured teasing, his smile as familiar to her as his presence in her bed. And he looked at her as though _she_ were the miracle.

Abby reached up and pulled him down firmly to capture his lips again, kissing him slow and deep.

When they broke apart the humour in his eyes had softened a little to something more tender, as though perhaps he had caught some of her sudden sentimentality. Or perhaps he had just been thinking along similar lines himself.

“Happy anniversary, Abby,” he murmured.

Abby smiled. “Happy Halloween,” she said.


End file.
